


Serpentine Prince

by SlashGod, UnderOblivionKeeper825



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale helps him to love himself, Aziraphale is the Mage, Crowley has been cursed, Crowley is the Prince, M/M, Prince & Mage AU, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 10:09:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20691764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlashGod/pseuds/SlashGod, https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnderOblivionKeeper825/pseuds/UnderOblivionKeeper825
Summary: Prince Crowley was cursed as a child, and now he has to live in a world where his features are hated and feared. When a new apprentice starts working with the old Mage who looks after anything odd, Crowley feels for the first time like he isn’t a monster. Can Aziraphale help Crowley to love himself?Co-written with UnderOblivionKeeper825Ratings will change





	1. Chapter 1

Stars twinkled brightly against the inky sky. A soft breeze whispered through the trees. Fires glowed softly in their hearths. The world outside was quiet, still, and peaceful. 

Inside the castle, fabric rustled, floorboards creaked, and a long breath was drawn from the imposing shadow approaching the newborn Prince, asleep in his crib.

“My, my.” 

Boney fingers, gnarled and impossibly long, curled tightly around the side of the crib, as the dark figure, drenched in darkness, leaned in to better gaze upon the youngest Prince.

Unbeknownst to the now waking babe, the figure grimaces as it looks at the babes near-angelic appearance.

“Thisss sssimply won’t do.” It hissed, as a slightly split tongue tasted the air-looking for any signs of danger.

“The Crown has ssshunned usss.” The wood of the crib creaks in relief as the boney fingers release it and aim for the tiny throat of the babe. They stop, as a chubby, little fist grips one of them while the babe happily babbles at, what he thinks, is a new friend.

“Innocccent.” The voice mused. “No predudicccessss.” The plan was quickly altered, as a new, far more sinister idea was formed.

Fingers pulled from the babes grasp, laying themselves not around the neck, but on top of the tuft of hair sprouting from the babies head. Red and Black swirls left the being, weaving around the child and encasing it. 

The serpentine creature turned its head, as it heard the scrapes of numerous feet growing louder, closer to the room. It smiled to itself. A murder had been planned, but a trick was just as sweet.

The spell completed and took hold of the Prince as the doors to the nursery burst open. Bright light poured into the room that made the dark creature hiss in pain and caused the frightened baby to cry out in his crib.

Relief washed over the guards and the Queen Mother at the sound, as she hurried forward to grab her child.

“You monster.” She panted, curling the babe against her chest, stroking his back with the loving compassion of every mother. “Be gone now from this land, and you may keep your life. If you stay, only misery will greet you.”

The serpentine creature grinned, with too many sharp teeth in such a human-like mouth, lowering its head in a mock bow.

“You will wissssh for sssomething as ssssweet as missssery.”

Before the Queen could question it, the Serpentine had gone, leaving barely a whisper of smoke in its wake. 

“Ma’am.” The guards shaking voice caught her attention, and she followed his gaze to her child, as she felt her blood run cold. 

The light from the hallway bathed the young Prince in the warm, orange light of newly lit torches and slowly dying embers from the hearth in the hallway of the castle. The Queen felt terror, dread, and anguish claw at her heart as she looked at what had become of her son. Once soft brown eyes now glowed a bright, harsh yellow. Once round pupils now formed long slits across the babes eyes.

The intruder had been right. 

Misery would have been sweeter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Attempted assault

Crowley heaved another sigh, too weary for a child born to such luxurious circumstances. As he sat on the window ledge of the library, he stared outside at the other children as they ran around, playing games and having fun. It was a beautiful Autumn day; a chill blew through the air, ruffling multi-colored leaves about- promising the approach of Winter. His head was resting against the window, a shadow fell over his eyes from the nearby blossom tree. When he sat _ here _ and watched, his eyes didn’t hurt as much. Nor did his feelings.

“Hiding again, young Prince?”

The familiar voice had Crowley sighing yet again, his head turning against the window so he could look at the Mage who found his melancholy so amusing. 

“Ss’not hiding if no-one comess to find you.” Crowley was pouting, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care. It didn’t matter how many times he had to watch from the windows as the local children ran about the courtyards with one another, it still made him bitter.

The smile didn’t leave the Mage’s face as he came to stand next to Crowley, glancing out the window towards the ruckus of the children. 

“I found you, didn’t I?”

A smile tugged at Crowley’s lips. No matter where he was, the Mage seemed to find him, even when he really did not want to be found. Must have been some kind of magic, Crowley had decided a long time ago. 

“Ss’different. You were looking for bookss.” Crowley's tongue flicked out as he spoke. It was hard to control it sometimes, but he was getting better. His elongated sibilant was hardly noticeable unless he was angry. He just had to stop tasting the air, and it would be fully gone when he spoke. It was a nervous habit though, a quick check of his surroundings to gather the emotions around him. Mostly it was fear - apart from the Mage. The worst scent Crowley had ever detected from him was anger, but it had never been as a result of Crowley (or so he hoped). 

“Maybe so.” The Mage replied, hand ruffling Crowley’s hair, to which the young Prince hissed, batting the hands away like the child he was. “Nevertheless. Now that I’ve found you would you help an old man carry the books he was seeking?”

Crowley eyed the two books in the Mage’s hands, and quickly grabbed them, jumping down from the ledge. “You really are old if you can’t even carry these. Guess I’ll just have to look after you!” 

The false confidence had the Mage smiling, allowing Crowley to lead him back to his workshop. He was nearly in his teenage years, and even now the Mage could see that his legs were getting longer. Crowley now had less control over how they moved with his body than ever. A little more confidence, and he was certain that Crowley would flourish. It was difficult though when no-one else around the palace treated Crowley as a young Prince, but instead as a monster. 

He knew why Crowley preferred to stay inside, and it wasn’t just because his eyes were sensitive to the light. Only a few weeks prior he had found Crowley curled up under his bed, little sobs the only way he would have found him. The children, ever-inventive little bastards that they were, had started to call Crowley ‘Crawley’, highly inaccurate, but a name that triggered the child's sensitivity about his differences nonetheless. 

It had broken his heart to hear Crowley retell the tale, hiccuping and hissing through his story. 

It was far from his job description as ‘Mage’, but his heart hurt for the boy. If there was anything he could do to ease his pain, he would. And if that meant his studies had suffered as a result, that he had lost his standings as the ‘most sought after’ Mage in the kingdom, then so be it. 

Crowley’s smiles were so few and far between, he felt like each one was a precious gift.

“You’re pulling that weird face again.” Crowley accused. 

“Why whatever do you mean?”

“Like you heard a joke that no-one else heard, and you’re trying not to laugh.”

Looking around, confused, the Mage muttered “You mean you didn’t hear that? Perhaps I am going crazy…”

Crowley snorted a half laugh, pushing at the old Mage playfully.

Their banter continued much the same, and Crowley marvelled that this old magical man was his very first friend. 

That maybe, if someone so old could like him for who he was and not judge him based on his appearance, that others could do the same.

—

“Will you go to the dance with me?”

Crowley’s insides felt like bubbles, and he grinned at the question - directed to him, no less! He finally felt like he was being accepted, and by going to the dance with someone who clearly liked him, maybe he could start living life without having to worry that everyone was afraid of him. Giddiness and nervous energy coursed through him as he met the expectant eyes of the boy standing before him. It was then he realized he was probably taking too long to answer, and burst out his affirmation. 

“Yes!”

“Great. I’ll meet you downstairs by the big griffin statue.” He looked pleased and a touch smug as he instructed Crowley, it practically rolled off him in waves.

The elder boy leaned against him, trying for a kiss. Crowley had managed to turn his head just in time, feeling a frustrated huff of air against his cheek. It wasn’t that he disliked the idea of being kissed - something had just felt off lately. The kisses felt less sweet and endearing and more possessive; leaving Crowley with an uneasy feeling and acid in his stomach.

The boy didn’t push, just left Crowley where he stood, back against the wall and head tilted shyly to the side. 

When it felt like his heart was no longer going to burst from his chest like some kind of monster curled away inside of him, Crowley ran to see the Mage.

“Nakir asked me to the dance!” He said in lieu of a proper greeting, ducking out of the way as some cloth was thrown toward him.

“Nakir?” The Mage questioned, and Crowley circled around the lump of cloth and clothes in the middle of the Mages workshop. It was moving, and he was fairly certain it was because the Mage was within its depths.

“What are you doing?”

“I am-“ a grunt, and the Mage fought his way to the surface. Before he could continue his explanation he gave Crowley an exasperated sigh. “-don’t laugh at me.” A little trip and he was dislodged from the mound, which itself disappeared with a flick of his wrist. 

“I am looking for a slip of paper. It has a rather delightful pie recipe on I was hoping to persuade the cook to bake, yet I can’t find it in any article of my clothing.” 

“Oh.” Crowley glanced around. “Do you want help looking?” He highly doubted that the forgetful old man had checked ** _all_ ** of his pockets. He got far too distracted. 

“Nonsense. I am sure it will appear when I need it most.”

Crowley had opened his mouth to argue that a slip of paper had no consciousness and thus wouldn’t know when it was needed most - a single question from the Mage stopped him in his tracks.

“Nakir?” 

Crowley was back to grinning widely, clapping his hands together like the excited teenager he was.

“Asked me to the dance tonight!” His grin dropped, hands tugging at his hair. “Oh, I don’t even know what to wear. What if he doesn’t like it?”

“My dear boy, isn’t Nakir the man three years older than you?”

Catching his tongue between his teeth, Crowley was immediately on the defensive.

“He’s still a teenager too, only 19! And how come he gets to be called a man but I’m just a _ boy _? That’s hardly fair.” Crowley stamped down the urge to cross his arms defiantly; that would look pretty childish and ruin his whole point, he thought.

“He is a 19 year old man, and you are a 16 year old boy.” The Mage pointed out, looking unimpressed as he sat at his workbench, pulling out scrolls to flick through. 

“There was a bigger age gap between my parents-“

“-your parents met at the ages of 6 and 11. Your mother waited until your father was 19 before she even suggested a courting. Which would have put her at the ripe old age of 24.”

“You could just say you don’t like him and leave it at that.” Crowley hissed through his teeth, arms folded over his chest (looking childish be damned, he hated being scolded by his closest friend).

“Very well.” The Mage turned in his seat, looked Crowley in the eyes and said “I do not like Nakir. I do not trust him. I do not want you to go with him-“

“-you’re-!”

“-not your father. Not your mother. I am a concerned friend, Crowley.”

With his eyebrows drawn together, frustration running through his veins, Crowley stomped away from his friend, making sure to slam the heavy door behind him.

The Mage didn’t know what he was on about! Crowley was fuming. He continued to argue in his head as he walked angrily down the corridors towards his chambers. 

Nakir was nice to Crowley. Kind. They’d held hands a couple of times.

A voice in the back of Crowley’s head was nagging at him.

‘He held your hand but pushed you away so no-one would see you.’

‘I’m a prince.’ His other inner voice argued back. ‘If we were caught holding hands he would have to declare his interest, and Mother can be so intimidating at times…. he tried to kiss me!’

‘He didn’t ask. He didn’t touch you anymore than was physically required. No skin on skin contact.’

‘He’s being careful. Slow.’

Crowley’s mind was a flurry of activity, two sides of the same coin, both fighting for dominance. Would it land on Heads or Tails?

He didn’t look.

Instead Crowley dressed for the dance. A waistcoat that showed off his slimness, tailored trousers and a pin for his long hair. He was dressed modestly, for royalty. He didn’t want to put Nakir off. He fussed over his appearance in the full length mirror for a few more moments, debating if he should wear the dark sunglasses he was given to hide his eyes. Nakir liked him, and he was publicly showing that, so perhaps he didn’t need them for once. Feeling brave, he decided not to put them on, but as he was about to leave his chambers, a bit of self doubt crept through. He snatched up the glasses and tucked them into his pocket. Just in case. 

As requested, he waited by the Griffin statue, feeling protected by its height. 

The statue was heavy, he knew that much. It has taken 20 men to push it into place. That weight was a comfort as Crowley looked up to it. Not a mark or a scratch on it. 

The Mage has told him once that Time would make itself known, even to something so strong. Immovable object and unstoppable force.

“Hey.”

Crowley turned to the voice, smiling at Nakir. His mood wasn’t at all dampened, even when he was frowned at.

“You’re not hiding your eyes.”

“Ah. Well, I thought tonight maybe-“

“Hide them. I don’t like them.”

Crowley’s smile slipped a fraction, though he complied with the request, pulling some sunglasses from his pocket. He slipped them into place, the world much darker. His heart feeling a touch darker with it.

“That’s better.” Nakir said, and Crowley forced his smile to stay wide. “Thought we’d skip the dance. It’s full of boring people.”

“Oh.” Crowley was disappointed, and Nakir tutted at him in disapproval. 

“Come on, we can do something much more fun with our time.”

There was a tilt to Nakirs voice that had Crowley’s stomach squirming - not with butterflies this time. With spiders.

“I don’t know-“

“-don’t you want to be my boyfriend?” Nakir pressured, grabbing Crowley’s wrist tightly. “My boyfriend wouldn’t say no to me.”

Crowley knew he didn’t like where this was going, but he so desperately wanted to be liked - the idea of Nakir telling people that Crowley was a bad boyfriend had his chest twisting uncomfortably.

“Okay.” He settled on, letting Nakir take his hand and lead him away.

They ended up in a spare guest room, the lights were already on. The guest rooms were always nice - simply furnished with nice enough furniture and tasteful art. Crowley liked these rooms usually. Right now, something hung in the air that set Crowley on edge. A strange sort of tension and anticipation that seemed to be emanating from Nakir and wrapping itself tightly around Crowley. When Crowley had gone to shut the door Nakir had stopped him, leaving it partly open ‘in case anyone came along’, that way they could hear them. Crowley was too innocent to think anything of it.

Nakir sat him at the edge of the bed, not wasting any time in getting his hands on Crowley. One went to his knee, the other gripped his neck, forcing him into a kiss. It was much rougher than the other kisses they had shared. That possessive feeling was coming off Nakir again, and it made Crowley’s heart feel like it had dropped to the floor. Nakir had an almost painful grip on Crowley, and would most likely leave bruises on him. The room suddenly felt darker, colder, and unwelcoming. But everything was fine, right? He was just overreacting; his nerves were just getting to him. Nakir’s kiss turned more forceful and insistent as he pushed Crowley flat onto the bed. Crowley started to feel Nakir trying to press his tongue into his mouth, and it made him feel sick. Something about this wasn’t right. Nakir grabbed his hand and pressed it to his crotch, forcing Crowley to feel exactly how much Nakir liked this. A part of Crowley _ wanted _to like it too; shouldn’t a good boyfriend be just as interested in this? But in a split second, he knew this was wrong. Crowley tried to pull back. He wasn’t ready to do that, and he didn’t like how forceful Nakir was being.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Nakir scolded him, gripping his wrist so hard Crowley winced.

“I’m gonna go back to the dance. I don’t want to .. do this.”

“You’re such a prude.” Nakir frowned. “Just give me a handy and you can run off.” He rubbed his crotch insistently against Crowleys hand. Crowley felt his whole body go numb and icy. Nakir wasn’t listening and respecting him. Nakir just wanted to use him. He heard his heart beating in his ears and his vision swam with unshed tears that threatened to spill over at any moment.

“I’m ssssserious, Nakir. I don’t feel like it and-” He tried to sound authoritative and commanding, but his voice rasped and as much as he tried to fight it, the fear and panic caused him to hiss slightly. He looked at Nakir pleadingly, but only saw the truth. Nakir had an angry flush across his face, his expression twisted in rage, and a sinister look to his eyes. He noticed Nakirs other hand raise back too late.

Before Crowley could defend himself the back of Nakir’s hand connected with his cheek. Sharp pins and needles ran through the spot were he was hit, the tears in his eyes finally spilling over as he looked at Nakir in shock. Vaguely, Crowley was aware of chuckling coming from outside the room. He lifted his head to spy Nakir’s friends on the other side of the door, laughing at how Crowley was being treated.

Crowley’s face flushed, hot red. He could feel anger boiling in the pit of his gut. He fought against it, doing his best to remain in control of himself. 

He jerked away from Nakir, and when the male tried to pin him down again, Crowley really lost control. He felt something in him just snap as he quickly lunged at his offender.

“SHIT!” Nakir scrambled back, grabbing onto his shoulder where Crowley’s snake teeth had dug in, staring with horror at the coiled and irritated snake that was once his boyfriend. “You’re a FREAK! Consider this a breakup, weirdo!”

Nakir ran out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 

Crowley could hear some shouts as Nakir’s friends tried to help him with the wound, but he was too busy curling around himself to do anything other than feel sorry for himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale travels to the palace.

“I don’t see why you need a stupid apprentice.”

“Crowley, we’ve been over this.” The Mage sighed. If he had thought teenage tantrums were bad, he hadn’t been prepared for Crowley’s tantrums now he was a fully grown man. 

“Why can’t  _ I _ be your apprentice?”

“You don’t have the patience.”

“I have plenty of patience.”

“You really, really don’t.” 

Crowley stopped with a hand on his desk, ending the spinning he had been doing in the Mage’s chair, legs folded underneath him. The frown wasn’t enough to change the Mage’s mind; he had spent too long around Crowley to give in to such methods of manipulation.

“When will they arrive?”

“This afternoon. They’re a well sought after apprentice, but decided to come and join us.”

Now Crowley looked hesitant. Usually dignitaries, royalty, and even higher ranks avoided the palace - all for one reason:Crowley. Which either meant this apprentice didn’t know, or that they had come specifically to see him. Neither of them boded well.

“You shouldn’t look so worried. I would never let anyone hurt you.”

“You can’t protect me all the time. Even  _ you  _ know that.”

Sighing once more, the Mage stopped cleaning the spare desk (any excuse to not have to try and organise something he threw anything old on), and stepped over to Crowley. He patted the man's shoulder, a small comfort. “What happened with Nakir. With his friends. All of the fallout that came after - you know I was on your side. No matter what the outcome was going to be, it was never going to look good for you.”

“I know.” Crowley huffed, arms wrapping around his legs. Somehow Crowley managed to look both like a normal human man, and also like a man who didn’t have enough bones in his body to support himself, moving in odd and uncomfortable ways. 

“The apprentice is neither scared of you, or too interested. A Mage can tell these things about people.”

“Because you’re old?” Crowley chuckled, then hissed as the back of his head was tapped in warning.

“Because I’m wise. And I made sure to meet him in person before I even offered him the placement.”

“ _ Him _ ?” Crowley’s grin had turned a bit sultry, already imagining what this apprentice might look like. Tall. Muscular. Maybe with a handsome beard. The room suddenly felt a few degrees warmer. Crowley may be snake-like, but he  _ was  _ still a man. And despite his failed attempts at romance in his youth, he was still a romantic at heart. 

“Don’t go getting any ideas.” 

“No, no ideas at all.” Crowley hummed, going back to spinning in the chair, using his hand against the clear desk to gain momentum. On the contrary, Crowley was getting a lot of ideas. A clandestine affair with the new, dashing Apprentice of his Mage? Scandalous! Perfect. He started to day dream, when questions formed in his mind and he snapped back into reality.

The Mage only waited a few seconds, then, predictably, Crowley’s curiosity got the better of him. The young man had always loved asking questions.

“What’s his name?”

“Introductions are better left until he arrives, don’t you think?”

There was a great sigh, but the Mage had already gone back to clearing his spare desk, not wanting to have his poor apprentice come into a messy office space. First impressions are important.

“How old is he?”

“About your age.”

“Is he single?”

“Crowley-“

“These are all important things to know.” Crowley argued, though he wilted when the Mage turned an unimpressed look to him.

“Seeing as your mind is so unfocused-“

“-no no no -“

“-you’ll be happy to continue with your studies. Read me section 413 from Merlins advanced botany guide, won’t you?”

Crowley stopped the chair spinning, slumping heavily onto the Mages desk.

“But it’s outdated, and he uses too many big words.”

The Mage clicked his tongue. “Then I suppose after you have read the chapter, you had best re-write it too.” At this, the Mage looked particularly smug. 

Crowley cursed under his breath, throwing the Mage a death glare over his shoulder. Before he could argue further there was the familiar rush of magic in the air, and Merlins large and heavy book landed on the desk, startling Crowley.

“Fine, fine.” He muttered, flicking to the right page. This was enough to keep him busy until supper, which just so happened to be when the Apprentice was due to arrive.

—

If Aziraphale had to describe himself in one word, he would have chosen at that very moment, to say it was ‘disgruntled’. It was as if the powers that be were purposely making his journey so horrendous he would never want to venture there again. Which was accurate, he decided, as the carriage hit yet another hole in the road, causing Aziraphale to grunt as his various bags slid and crushed him against the wooden interior. 

A small part of him, too small to really put a name to, told Aziraphale it was his own fault. There was a perfectly good baggage holder atop the carriage - only, he didn’t trust the darkening clouds not to rain on his possessions and ruin them completely. Which is why he had insisted on having them inside the carriage with him. 

Said carriage was slowing down, and Aziraphale spied guards approach them, clearly wanting to verify he was who the horseman said he was. Once they were deemed safe, they were finally allowed into the castle grounds. 

Aziraphale was in awe of the sights.

Tree’s as tall as the castle walls lined each of them on the inside, as if it acted as a second barrier to any forces that dared break through the strong stone. Strong, dark trunks split off into hundreds of branches that reached out towards the sky and every other direction. Lush, verdant leaves hung thick and heavy along the branches, offering shelter to the animals and people that walked beneath them. 

Just beyond the courtyard Aziraphale spied gardens, that flourished more than the trees, a symphony of colours against the dreary mud and cobble. Aziraphale closed his eyes and imagined the beautiful aromas that might surround him if he should decide to take a stroll through the beautiful maze of flowers and plants.

The carriage stopped, and the horseman opened the door with small difficulty, trying to stop any bags from falling onto the dusty grounds. Aziraphale thanked the man as he departed the carriage, his holdall clutched tightly in his hands. The bags would find their way to his quarters, a guard assisting even as Aziraphale walked away.

His cream clothes showed his status, a single golden ring on his pinky identified his trade, reinforced by the pocket watch that was tucked into his waistcoat. He wore the colours of his family, a tartan pattern that covered only his waistcoat and bow tie, a small comfort that he was thankful for after a particularly bruising journey so far from home. 

A tall figure hurried toward him, and Aziraphale smiled in delight as he recognised the Mage. “Felix! It’s so terribly good to see a friendly face after such an awful journey.”

“Aziraphale, my friend.” They clasped forearms, an oddly friendly greeting between two that have only met one other time. “Come, you’re just in time for supper. A meal fit to alleviate the horrors of any strenuous journey.”

Aziraphale’s smile was soft and grateful. Supper was just what he needed to cheer up.

As he was led through the many hallways, Aziraphale tried to memorise the location of the kitchen. He would need to become quick friends with whoever worked there, seeing as he would no doubt be after snacks on more than one occasion. Aziraphale had a deep love of food. You could learn so much about people, places, and cultures from what kinds of foods they ate and made, and Aziraphale wanted to learn about and try them all.

They entered the room to a flourish of activity, an older woman with red hair ushering her staff about the place. 

“Felix!” She grinned, hurrying over to them and pulling the Mage into a hug. If Aziraphale hadn’t been positively distracted by the smells of the kitchen, he could have sworn Felix had squeaked as he was tightly squeezed. 

“Madam. A pleasure as always.”

“How many times do I have to say it? Just call me Tracey.”

“Always once more.”

Tracey slapped a hand against Felix’s chest, her attention turned to Aziraphale. “And who is the charming young fellow?”

“Ah, this is my new apprentice.”

“Aziraphale. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Madam.” 

“Cute  _ and _ polite.” Tracey gave Felix an arch of her brow, pointedly looking at Aziraphale’s hands folded over his front. “And no ring to boot. You’d best keep your eye on this one, or else the young Prince will be seizing his claim.”

“Seizing his claim?” Aziraphale asked, a hint of concern in his voice. 

“Don’t you worry about it dearie. Now, how about some supper?”

“Oh, that would be simply delightful.” Aziraphale’s shoulders did a little wiggle of excitement, and he followed the head of the kitchen off to a side room, where some of the castle staff were eating. She herded him into a wooden chair near the fireplace, already hurrying away again before he could utter his thanks. 

“She seems like a delightful character.” Aziraphale chirped, watching as Felix sat across from him with a grimace. 

“Oh, Madam Tracey is wonderful. It’s her husband, Sergeant Shadwell, who is a menace.” 

Aziraphale had only a moment to make a noise of curiosity, then a platter full of bread, meats and cheeses was pushed to their table, Tracey wishing them well and scurrying off, already shouting again at the staff that were dragging their heels. 

Lost in the rainbow of flavours, Aziraphale didn’t speak again until the platter between him and Felix was empty. 

Dabbing at his lips with a cloth, Aziraphale studied the haggard look of his mentor. When they’d last spoke it had been mentioned that he was getting in higher demand as the Prince got older, both by the Prince and the Kingdom. Up until now he hadn’t been fulfilling his quota to an adequate degree, hence the need for an apprentice. 

“Tell me,” Aziraphale started, adding a quick “If you’d be so kind, what is the Young Prince like?”

The skin around Felix’s eyes crinkled, a smile tugging at his features. “Prince Crowley is unlike anyone I’ve ever met before.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self-worth issues mentioned in this chapter with some mistrust. Also softness.

Crowley had gone to bed that evening disappointed. Despite his best attempts, his mother had insisted on spending the evening with him and not allowing him to go and discover the new Apprentice. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like his mother, he really did. He loved her, from his very core. It was just that, when she was so insistent on spending time with him, he felt too much like he was disappointing her. From the glint of his eyes to the sway as he walked, he was everything she wasn’t. She was strong, tall and precise in her movements. Her eyes gave nothing away.

Which is why he tended to avoid her. To be under such scrutiny, such a piercing gaze that saw everything about him, well, it had Crowley’s skin crawling in a way he didn’t much appreciate. 

While his mother appeared to be waiting for the monster to appear, Crowley shied further and further away from her, until he became nothing more than a shadow. 

By the time he had finally managed to retreat to the safety of his room, he had been too exhausted to even try and seek out their newest palace guest. 

Slipping his glasses from his face, Crowley blinked, eyes adjusting to the new lighting. He pulled his hair from the tight bun, red waves falling past his shoulders. Finally, he undressed. Each layer of clothing he pulled off released more of the tension from his day, from the slightly scuffed shoes to the dark vest that clung to him. Freckles across his shoulders as dark as scales, over his collarbones and down to the light dusting of red hair across his chest. Where the hair stopped the freckles continued, under his chest, across his ribs and joining the courser hair once more at his navel. The freckles spread across his hips, his thighs, shins and calves, and ended rather expectantly at his feet. 

Once, Crowley had read that freckles were the kisses of Angels. Sometimes he still thought of that when he stood before his full length mirror. What would his life have been like if he hadn’t been cursed? A beauty? Envied by all others? Usually the thought was thrown out when his eyes landed firmly on his own gaze, second eyelids blinking like that of a snake and making him so disgusted with himself he covered the mirror. The longest he had gone without it had been a week. Like a weakness, he always uncovered it once more, to look, and to torture himself with his own appearance. 

Tonight when he examined his body in the reflection of the mirror, he avoided his eyes. Instead he laid a hand across his neck, watching as it slipped down his torso to rest just above where he wanted it the most. 

Crowley's other weakness was affection. He craved it, like a drunkard craved another sip, or an addict for the next hit. It had been so rarely offered to him, had been taken back or morphed into hatred so quickly that Crowley savoured each and every hint of affection his mind could twist into believing it was for him. A soft touch, a sweet sigh, an insistent grabbing, and a warm feeling coursing through him - he chased those things desperately. He tried to conjure up those feelings in his mind and body. 

Still, he was flaccid as he gripped himself. He sighed, turning away from the mirror to gather his nightclothes. 

No matter how hard his mind tried, his body could never follow. 

Brushing his teeth and curling his hair, Crowley crawled under his silk covers and allowed sleep to take him. 

The morning didn’t improve his mood. 

While his sleep had been thankfully dreamless, that particular day was one of his rest days. Which meant he had no reason to pester the Mage, and had to think of his own entertainment. 

If there was one thing Crowley loathed more than being busy, it was being bored. 

The only plus side, he mused, was that the sun was already up, starting to warm the palace grounds. Arching against the bed, Crowley took his time stretching. His body curved and twisted in impossible ways for a normal human, but as his joints popped and his muscles stretched, he sighed comfortably. 

When the sun was like this, rays beating down against the soft soil, warming the grass and encouraging the flowers to bloom, Crowley tended to spend his day in his serpent form. It wasn’t something he did often, the fear of forgetting how to turn back at the forefront of his mind.

Still, being a simple snake had its advantages. No clothes, for a start.

Stripping out of his nightclothes, Crowley transformed. His once slim figure was now sleek, freckles merging until they blackened into the scales they mimicked. By normal snake standards, Crowley was rather large. That didn’t mean he couldn’t still use the water pipe outside of his window to wind his way to the ground floor, muscles bunching to move him along. 

It did mean, however, that any servants or visitors tended to avoid him. Which was perfectly fine for him, all he wanted to do was sun himself on a rock anyway.

Slithering to his favourite rock, a large one just under the apple tree that had been planted to celebrate his birth, Crowley coiled and flopped, staring out at his garden with his sleepy snake eyes. A long time ago his apple tree had been abandoned. His birth was no longer seen as a blessing. In fact, the only reason Crowley knew it was his was because the Mage had told him. Since then Crowley had taken a shine to gardening. On the really bad days he yelled at his garden, and on the good ones he immersed himself amongst the life there. 

As the sun passed through the sky, Crowley napped on and off. The good thing about being in snake form was that his eyes stayed open, so nobody dared approach him.

It was around lunch time that Crowley finally broke his slumber, hearing footsteps nearby.

“Oh!” 

The exclamation was from an unfamiliar voice, and Crowley’s gaze lazily travelled to the newcomer. Whoever it was looked soft, white tight curls for hair, cream clothes and some weird pattern on his bowtie. Who even wore bowties anymore? Crowley’s tongue flickered out, tasting the air.

No fear. 

There was something sweet, something Crowley couldn’t place.

“Aren’t you handsome?”

The stranger stepped closed, crouching so that he was closer to Crowley’s level. The man had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. And, for whatever reason, was talking to Crowley.

“My, what a wonderful pattern you have.” 

A hand moved to touch, and Crowley’s instincts kicked in, causing him to hiss and jerk his head as if to bite.

“Ah, sorry, my dear. I often act without thinking.”

Instead of being put off, of becoming afraid, the newbie seemed to settle. He sat on the path near Crowley’s sunning rock, keeping the snake within his gaze but also not focusing on him. Oddly, it put Crowley at ease.

“You don’t mind if I read, do you?”

When it was clear that the man was waiting for an answer, Crowley settled his head back onto his curled body, watching the man and letting his tongue flicker, another taste of the air. 

Still no fear. Who was this man?

“Thank you, my dear.” The stranger had taken Crowley’s relaxing for the sign it was, and pulled a small book from within his coat, followed by some gold rimmed glasses. 

What followed was an hour of listening to the soothing voice of his visitor, not even registering what book he was reading out loud, just relaxing to the deep vibration of his speech. 

On Aziraphale’s part, he’d honestly just been looking to explore the gardens and make himself acquainted with the grounds. He hadn’t expected to come across a snake, a rather large, clearly cursed snake, sunning themselves on a giant rock under an apple tree. 

Aziraphale couldn’t sense what the curse was, exactly, he could just feel the dark magic that clung to the snake's aura. The Mage’s speciality had always been spells and potions, anything relating to translations of texts, and books. Animals and beasts were a whole other speciality, one that very few Mages took to, purely because of the high death rates. 

The snake was peaceful enough, and seemed to calm when it realised Aziraphale wasn’t a threat.

When Aziraphale finally looked up from his passage in the book, ready to admit that hunger was calling his name, he was surprised to find the rock empty. 

Chuckling to himself, Aziraphale struggled to his feet, tucking his book back into his jacket pocket, dusting off his knees and the back of his jacket, and strolling back toward the castle, unaware of the golden eyes that followed him.

Crowley's chest was heaving, his back pressed tightly against the cold wall to his chambers. From this angle he could see the man amble away, not a care in the world. 

Around the same time that Crowley recognised the text that was being read to him, he also realised just who this strange man was. 

The apprentice.

It was then that he’d slithered away in a panic, and hidden himself against the wall of his room, panting as he watched the apprentice leave the gardens.

He must have known, right? That was the reason for the sweet words. The gentle composure and unthreatening nature. He must have figured out that the snake was Crowley with his Magey powers and was trying to seduce him into a false sense of security and belonging. 

When he was finally out of sight, Crowley slid down the wall until he sat on the floor, collapsed against it. 

“Basstard” he hissed, rubbing the stinging tears from his eyes.

It had worked.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to [ @fluffmonsterc3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffmonsterc3/pseuds) who Beta'd this chapter - it wouldn't have been completed without your guidance and encouragement! As always you can find me on tumblr as ineffable-bastard-crowley

It was dinner time when Crowley eventually dragged himself from his room. If he skipped dinner, it usually resulted in his mother coming to lecture him. That was the last thing he wanted right now, so he had pulled on something presentable, a tailored waistcoat with silver trim and decorative lining, and swayed his way to the dining hall.

Though the hall was impressively wide with high ceilings, stretching far, it was rarely used by more than a handful of people in the castle.

There used to be a time where the castle was brimming with life and noise, where you couldn't tell your own footsteps from that of the person next to you. The halls would be packed with servants, decorators, advisers, diplomats and others of importance. Now they barely saw more than five people a day. A ghost whisper against his neck filled Crowley with guilt, though he ignored the desire to brush the nape of his neck to remove it. 

Since Crowley’s… incident… they hadn’t hosted another ball, and his mother was loathe to have guests where they could see Crowley.

The thing that had hurt him the most was her reaction. 

From Crowley’s understanding, seeing as he hadn’t actually witnessed it himself, Nakir had stumbled back to the ball with blood dripping from his wound, smeared footsteps showing his path. The hall had silenced as he approached the middle, then he had dropped to his knees and exclaimed Crowley to be a beast. A monster beyond all comprehension, incapable of affection.

Crowley's mother had stood from her throne, and the Kingdom quivered at her demands. 

The castle would close. Every guest was to leave the premises immediately. She had stared Nakir down until the last outsider had gone, and then she had turned on her pristine heels and left.

What Crowley did know was his own punishment. The scars, both mental and physical, proved to him that he was nothing more than a thorn in his mother’s side to be discarded at the first opportunity, and to be blamed even against proof of his innocence.

“Ah, there you are.” Crowley was snapped out of his spiralling thoughts, head jerking up from where he had been studying the floor, imagining the blood that had stained it for weeks. 

Felix stood, as did the new Apprentice. Crowley’s glare was lost in the tint of his glasses.

“This is Aziraphale, the apprentice I was telling you about.”

Very uncharacteristically of Crowley, he just grunted in response, ignoring the offered hand with a tilt of his body and sitting down at his usual place.

Felix looked bewildered, as did Aziraphale. They both shared confused glances, though Felix motioned for Aziraphale to sit as the servers brought out the food. 

Crowley’s dinner was, as it had been for the past 10 years, entirely made of salad. Take one bite out of your attacker and suddenly everyone is worried you have a taste for flesh. It made Crowley sigh, and he pushed the colourful yet bland mixture around his plate with his fork, looking uninterested.

“Ahem. Well.” Felix folded a napkin in his lap, and started on his own meal, the smells of perfectly cooked meats, carbs and the barest hints of herbs wafting from his plate as he did so. Aziraphale also started on his equally pleasant meal, though he kept stealing glances at the Prince. Had he done something to upset him? Was he meant to have bowed? Oh bother. Aziraphale had heard tales of how excitable the Prince was around newcomers, so the clear disdain had thrown Aziraphale into a bit of a tizzy.

“What have you done with your day?” Felix politely asked, shocked when Crowley hissed in response. “Now see here,” Felix rarely raised his voice, and he had never directed said raised voice at Crowley before. “If you are suddenly incapable of actually making sentences, the least you can offer is a civilised meal. Do _ not _ hiss at me. I am your tutor.”

Crowley looked rightfully told off, shoulders lifting as he hunched over his salad.

“Ss’garden.” He muttered, shoving a forkful of food into his mouth, an excuse to not talk.

Felix relaxed a little, giving Aziraphale a side glance. “Oh. Aziraphale ventured to the gardens too.”

“Oh yes!” A light seemed to glow from behind Aziraphales eyes, clearly excited to share his story for the day. “I saw the most wonderful apple tree, and beneath it a rather handsome serpent!”

Crowley flinched the same time some of the servers whispered, but Aziraphale seemed oblivious.

“Much larger species than I’ve ever seen before, and so docile. I really must consult with some of my fellow apprentices who have specialised in animals. The poor thing seemed to have a curse, though I couldn’t tell exactly what it was. I’d love to help, but animals aren’t my skill set. I’m much better at potions and books.”

Crowley’s mouth was mostly agape by this point, though Aziraphale was too busy wiggling in his seat and buttering bread to actually notice. Not that Crowley would have it any other way, Aziraphale was built to enjoy the foods that Crowley now dreamed of, he wouldn’t take that away from him even for a moment.

Felix’s eyebrows were quickly disappearing into his hairline.

“You…” Crowley started.

Aziraphale looked over to Crowley, blinking innocently. “Hmm?”

Crowley quickly looked away, feeling his face heat up from his neck to the very tips of his ears.

The apprentice hadn’t known it was him. Crowley had been cursing him all day and the bloody idiot hadn’t even known it was Crowley he was reading to under the apple tree.

Now the question was, should he tell him?

It would be revealing a part of himself that had taken the castle years to learn, and he’d only met the apprentice that day. As Crowley glanced up to the sparkling blue eyes, he decided yes. 

“Me.” He croaked.

“Pardon?”

“The snake. It was me.”

There was a long pause. Felix knew, of course he did, and the castle staff knew too. It was just Aziraphale who needed to process the information, and it seemed to be taking a while. Crowley watched as his eyes flickered from side to side, connecting the dots.

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed, jerking in excitement and knocking his knee against the table.

Crowley misinterpreted the excitement for disgust, the pure physical reaction of it was so similar, the jerking motions, the wild eyes. For as long as he could remember, disgust was the more common emotion directed his way. It had him taking the defensive, his body curling involuntary, as if waiting for the blow that was to no doubt follow. 

“I have so many questions!” Aziraphale babbled happily, and Crowley looked up in shock. “I don’t even know where to begin. I should compile a list! Please, excuse me.” And with a hurried shuffle away from the table, Aziraphale was muttering to himself, trying to keep a mental note of his questions until he got to his quarters and could write them down.

Crowley’s gaze followed him until he disappeared from view. 

Felix dabbed at his face with a napkin, a poor disguise to hide his smirk. “It’s not often you’re speechless these days,” he said. 

Indeed it took Crowley a few moments and a lot of concentration to respond.

“It’sss not often there is someone ssso…” Crowley waved his hand, still staring at the doorway, until he finally turned to look at Felix. “So… inexplicably delighted at the world.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to [ @fluffmonsterc3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffmonsterc3/pseuds) who Beta'd this chapter again and has been listening to rambling and odd ideas at all hours of the day - you are so much appreciated! As always you can find me on tumblr as ineffable-bastard-crowley

Despite Aziraphale’s apparent elation at realising Crowley was the serpent he’d befriended in the garden, it had been a couple of days since they last saw each other.

Felix was busy with Crowley and his studies, and, in an effort to be less disruptive, Aziraphale had promised to stay away from the pair until later in the week.

Judging from Felix’s stiffness when the lessons were over, Aziraphale’s plan wasn’t quite working.

Of course, he was fulfilling his other promise as well. He had indeed written a list of all the questions he could possibly think of for the Prince. Many were clinical, basic questions he would expect anyone to ask. Others… well, they erred on the side of personal. He had no plan to ask them outright; instead, Aziraphale’s plan was to judge the mood and ask if the opportunity arose.

Unfortunately, avoiding anywhere that Crowley could possibly be meant that Aziraphale couldn’t enjoy the library, alchemy area, nor the gardens. Which left Aziraphale few options: either the kitchen or the training grounds.

As lovely as it was to befriend the kitchen staff and try all sorts of culinary delights, he didn’t want to be seen as taking advantage of the kindness offered in an exploitorary manner.

So it was on a frightfully warm morning that Aziraphale found himself sat on the sidelines of the training grounds, perched upon a bench worn from the weather and many admirers of those in the training arena, making notes on a script that Felix had partly translated. 

Part of every Mage’s training included that of self defense, from hand to hand combat to the use of weapons. While seemingly odd compared to their peaceful nature, it had a number of benefits. Mages believed that keeping both the mind and the body in peak physical condition aided them, and training helped achieve that. It was also useful when it came to hunting down information and materials often located in dangerous places - on the edge of cliffs, at the bottom of lakes, or in the land of the Fae, for example. 

Peace was always their first call. Mages knew the value of life and death more intimately than most, yet violence was always an option for them, if push came to shove.

For Aziraphale, the dull background noise of the training grounds, metal clanging on metal, the heavy breaths of hand to hand exertion, it was a comforting sort of place to be. 

“Oi!”

The yell registered in Aziraphale’s mind, but he paid it no attention. Surely it was meant for someone else.

“Oi, Mage!”

Ah, so it was directed at him. Aziraphale had thought all those who resided behind the castle walls would be as polite as the kitchen staff. Judging by this common address aimed in his direction, it seemed as if he was mistaken. If the voice hadn’t been getting closer, Aziraphale might have just ignored it until it went away. Certainly the tone of the speaker had already put him off.

“You deaf or something?”

“Hardly. I just don’t enjoy shouting matches.” Aziraphale, head down and diligently keeping to his note-taking, replied once the gentleman - well, gentleman was a bit far-fetched for someone with such poor manners - was within civilised talking distance. He missed the twitch of anger directed his way.

“You’ll be studying that monster then, huh?”

Now that certainly caught his attention. At first Aziraphale had paused, his quill just above the papers resting in his lap, still hunched over them as he tried to process just what monster he was meant to be studying.

Then it clicked.

“I beg your pardon.” His eyes snapped up nearly as quickly as his tone, and Aziraphale was very much now looking at the man before him. Not a gentle part to him.

“The Prince.” Was the only clarification for Aziraphales snapped comment, as if it was obvious to whom the term ‘monster’ had been used to describe.

“Do you often call residing royalty such accusational terms?” Aziraphale snapped his book shut with a flick, quill pressed to the spine lest he use it in anger.

“Only when they deserve it.” The man sneered. “He attacked me. Bit me. If that isn’t a monster then I don’t know what is.”

“What is your name.”

“Nakir.”

“Well, Nakir. I am not here to study the Prince, nor am I here to study any monsters. I am here as a man of academia seeking new knowledge. As such I suggest you reevaluate your life choices if you consider the simple act of biting to be a sign of monstrosity.” Aziraphale gave a very pointed look to the sword that Nakir was leaning on. “For I have seen many a monster, and they tend to opt for much sharper weapons than teeth.” 

If there had been the sound of a penny dropping, Aziraphale was sure every other person around them, other than him, would have heard it. The blood roaring in his ears stopped anything other than Nakir’s words from repeating through his mind as he turned on his heels and marched away. 

\--

Monster. ** _Monster_ **.

How dare that… that… _ man _ say such things about the Prince! 

Aziraphale’s pace slowed as his mind turned to the Prince. They had met only for a short while, yet Aziraphale was almost certain that the Prince would never bite someone unprovoked. If Nakir had spoken to Aziraphale for much longer, he might have been tempted himself. 

Though he specialised in Alchemy and potions, Aziraphale had a gift in being able to read people; whether it was their aura or just a natural feeling, it had never steered him wrong so far. All of his feelings about the Prince led him to believe he was a genuinely kind man, hurt by a very cruel world that looked at the surface of a person instead of their actions.

Aziraphale’s heart ached. 

In the end, Aziraphale had retired to the kitchens. Food had always been his comfort, and the kitchen staff had certainly made a good impression to him since his arrival. It seemed foolish to _ not _seek comfort in the place he knew it would be given in spades. 

“I never did like that boy.” Madam Tracey clucked, fussing over Aziraphale and easing his bad temper. She was a very kind soul, and Aziraphale felt an immediately friendly connection with her.

“I apologise Madam, I don’t mean to disturb you-”

“-oh hush, dear. I’ve always had a soft spot for the Prince, and that Nakir has been nothing but trouble since the very beginning.” 

“You’ve had encounters with him too?”

Taking a cup of tea for the both of them, Madam Tracey sat opposite him, passing the hot mug with a gentle smile. “Barely. But I hear things from the others. Rude, manipulative, trying to make his way into the castle hierarchy. Always has an ulterior motive, that one. And poor Crowley- oh do forgive me, gossip is a terrible vice of mine!” Her laugh lightened the atmosphere, and Aziraphale chuckled along with her. 

“Certainly not to encourage your vices, my dear, but could you shed some light on an incident that Nakir mentioned?”

Tracey’s smile tensed for a fraction of a second. Aziraphale had a feeling he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear.

“I imagine he mentioned his wound. Tiny little thing really, making mountains out of molehills and all that.”

“Yes, he did rather make it seem like a personal attack.But I gather that is not the case?”

“Hardly.” Tracey huffed, though she sipped her tea with an elegance that didn’t fit her tone. “Nakir is the attacker, and poor Crowley. Oh he didn’t leave his chambers for days. Felix was beside himself with worry for the poor thing, didn’t know what he could do to help. Not that there was anything that could be done.”

“Nakir attacked the Prince?” Aziraphale was shocked. To do so would be an act of treason. How was Nakir still within the castle grounds, let alone alive?! Aziraphale had seen many executions for lesser offenses to royalty. 

“Tried to force himself on Crowley. Wouldn’t take no for an answer and struck him. If you ask me, he got off lightly with a little nip. Lord forbid, had it been me he wouldn’t have walked again.”

“Bastard wouldn’ee have breathed again, lasse.” 

Aziraphale jumped at the gruff voice. Shadwell entered the kitchen with an animal carcass over his shoulder, making him hunch as he dragged it in.

“Oh mister ** _Shadwell_ **.” Tracey battered her eyelids and fanned her face with her hand, throwing a wink for good measure to the now flustered husband of hers.

But the couple’s flirtations might as well have been happening in the next room over with how much Aziraphale was paying attention.

He felt as if there was a low buzzing in his head. The news of exactly what happened between Nakir and Crowley had something hot and hard swirling in Aziraphale’s stomach.

An anger he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He would certainly be keeping an eye on this Nakir, because he was surely still up to no good.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to [ @fluffmonsterc3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffmonsterc3/pseuds) who Beta'd this chapter in record time! We are both procrastinating which means you get another chapter. As always you can find me on tumblr as ineffable-bastard-crowley (also I adore art if anyone is so inclined)

The moon was bright in the cloudless sky, solid against the blackness of space, stars sprinkled like the freckles on Crowley’s skin.

The night air was cool, but not enough to make him shiver as he walked through the gardens, past his sunning rock and apple tree, to the pond and water feature just beyond them.

The water feature was modest with a marble rim decorated with what once was exquisite carvings of stories lost to time, and located just a short distance from the pond. Like many things in the castle, it had crumbled and faded due to lack of care and attention. 

Crowley settled on the marble. Out here he felt a sense of relief. He was free to be himself. His fingers played with the arms of his glasses, and he eventually slipped them off, giving a small satisfied sigh at seeing the full beauty the moonlight cast around him.

He placed his glasses with care in the inside pocket of his waistcoat, quickly followed by his hair tie. Red locks bounced and curled as they settled, then Crowley brushed them over his shoulder, fingers carding through his soft hair as he gazed at his reflection in the water of the fountain. 

The ripples from the fountains running water distorted his image enough that his reptilian eyes weren’t reflected back to him, just a blurred image of the being he longed to be - normal and accepted. Loved, even.

Crowley didn’t move as he heard footsteps approach. The patrol around the grounds knew better than to try and move him on, and Crowley never came out on the nights Nakir was on shift. The guards would do their duty and pretend he wasn’t there, searching the perimeter for any signs of intruders and moving on with their rounds.

“Hello there.”

Crowley’s fingers stilled their movements through his hair, his body turning as rigid as the marble on which he sat.

“I do hope I’m not interrupting. And that you don’t find me too bold. It’s just, ah, well I asked after you in the kitchens, you see, when you weren’t there for dinner, and-“ The stammering paused as if unsure if the speaker should continue. Crowley heard a rustle of fabric that made him, still staring frozen into the water, think of hands nervously bunching at clothes.,

Crowley finally looked up from his reflection, and was immediately startled at the concern on Aziraphales face.

“Well, Madame Tracey said you were most likely dining with the Queen. She said you never eat much, so I offered to bring you some nibbles.” Aziraphale motioned to the picnic basket he was carrying, and the startled laugh from Crowley had him relaxing.

“I was rather hoping I could join you, if you would be amenable to some company-“

“Yes.” Crowley quickly responded before Aziraphale could ramble on more. Then he flushed, worried he had come across as too eager. With any luck, the darkness had covered how his skin lit up.

“Thank you.” 

The breathy relief was just as new as the concern Crowley had witnessed, watching with open interest as Aziraphale sat near him, placing the picnic basket between them as a peace offering. 

As soon as the fabric covering was lifted, Crowley was overwhelmed with the scents of the delicious food within. Fresh fruit picked from the kitchens gardens, breads, cheeses, and even some cured meat. If he weren’t a royal and raised with manners, Crowley was near certain he would have moaned at the smells alone.

It seemed Aziraphale had no such qualms, taking a deep inhale of the delicious scents and letting out a pleased sound that went straight to Crowley’s nethers. 

Just as Aziraphale reached into the basket, he seemed to catch himself, yanking his hand back and looking sheepishly to Crowley. “I’m terribly sorry. Where are my manners. Would you like to make yourself a selection before I go barging in?”

“Ah.Well…” The selection was overwhelming when all Crowley was used to was a posh salad. “What would you recommend?”

If possible, Aziraphale’s whole body glowed at the question, and the little wiggle of delight he did had Crowley’s smile appearing before he could push it down. 

“Now then, I must insist you start with some of the fresh bread Madame Tracey baked. It is simply  _ scrumptious _ .”

Crowley took the offered bread, though he couldn’t say it was any more impressive than the bread he would sneak from her when he had the chance. Which he supposed would make sense, as she probably baked the other bread as well. Thankfully, Aziraphale didn’t wait for his reaction, already looking back into the basket to see what other delights he could treat Crowley to.

The care and attention, as well as the lack of expectation, had something in Crowley’s chest stirring. 

“I noticed that the servers don’t provide you with any meat products -” Aziraphale started, and Crowley’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t much want to explain why they witheld the food from him. Aziraphale continued, “- but I did bring some of the cured meat that Shadwell declared edible. It’s more flavourful than meaty, though you don’t have to try it if you would prefer not to.” Aziraphale pulled out a small foiled package, opening it and breathing in the scent as his eyes fluttered closed.

Crowley’s serpent tongue flicked out, tasting the aroma of Aziraphale’s delight. 

It was enough to get drunk on.

Crowley managed to pull himself back together just as Aziraphale’s eyes opened, and, to cover the stupid look on his face, he reached for the smallest bit of cured meat. It felt leathery, even a little greasy in his fingers, and he nibbled on it with a delicacy he would never usually show.

Taking that as a cue that he could join in, Aziraphale also partook, making a delighted noise in the back of his throat. 

“I must say, Shadwell likes to display himself as a beast of a man, but he certainly has a talent with seasoning.”

Now Crowley did laugh at that, the sound being punched from his gut and startling him enough that he covered his mouth with his hand, his shoulders still shaking as he tried to calm himself.

Aziraphale’s smile was brighter than any he had seen before, and, even as he settled himself, he couldn’t help but smile back, the sharpness of his teeth catching in the moonlight. 

“Shadwell  _ is _ a beast of a man. I’ve never seen someone scare wildlife to death before, but he manages it. How he succeeded in courting Tracey and eventually marrying her is the biggest mystery in this place.”

Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to laugh, a melody in the night air.

“You know my dear, that's the most I’ve heard you speak since we met. Felix had told me you were a talkative man. I rather hope that you feel comfortable enough around me now that our awkward first meeting is out of the way that you won’t hide that lovely voice from me anymore.”

There was no way that Aziraphale could miss the flush on Crowleys face anymore. The bastard mage could probably feel it, just by the amount of heat that Crowley’s face was producing.

“You wanna be careful what you say.” Crowley hissed without meaning to, quickly turning away from Aziraphale to glare at a nearby flower. “Walls have ears. Or not walls. Flowers. Bugs. Bugs must have ears, that's how they hear other bugs.”

“I don’t quite understand?” 

The concern had Crowley jerking to a stand, missing the soft hand that had been reaching to comfort him, as the food that he had been holding fell to the floor.

“ _ Nice _ .” He hissed. “No one around here is  _ nice _ , not to  **me** . If you keep trying, saying things like ‘ _ lovely _ ’ and ‘ _ my dear _ ’, you’ll be killed. And it won’t be out of some crazed jealousy like those  _ stupid _ novels Felix brings me. It’ll be because you are trying to befriend a  **monster** .” The more he ranted, the more he hissed. 

Any kindness shon upon him was met with a swift dismissal, and even Felix wouldn’t be able to protect Aziraphale from what came after. Aziraphale wasn’t here to teach Crowley, wasn’t here to interact with Crowley in any sense. By doing so of his own free will, he was putting a target on his back.

“Crowley.”

“No!” Crowley spun back around to face Aziraphale. His eyes wide and shining with tears. The one person who’s been kind to him- he couldn’t let anything happen.

Aziraphale reached for him.

Crowley panicked.

The thing about cornering a wild animal that is panicked, is that you shouldn’t. Wild animals are unpredictable at the best of times, but when you back them into a corner with nowhere left to go, they lash out. It's the only thing they can do. Their only line of self defense.

That was what flashed through Aziraphale’s mind as the next few seconds unfolded. And it was a few seconds, he knew this logically, even if it felt like a lifetime.

He could see the fear flash in Crowley’s eyes. Could see, just a second too late, that he pushed too far. 

Crowley defended the only way he could: by smacking away Aziraphale’s hand. 

With claws.

They didn’t look much like claws, more like elongated nails, Aziraphale mused mid slash, oddly detached from his body as his skin was sliced. There was no mistaking the damage they left. No nails would cut so deeply, so easily.

Funnily enough, it was Crowley who yelped as if he was struck, backing away from Aziraphale with wide eyes and trembling hands.

Aziraphale was fairly certain he heard a stuttered apology as Crowley ran, and he was left by the fountain clutching his bleeding arm to his chest, wincing as he fell back into his consciousness, pain flaring and springing him into action.

The picnic was forgotten as Aziraphale hurried to the kitchen. The second Madame Tracey saw him she was on him, helping to stop the bleeding as she barked orders to those around her.

A few stitches from the castle medic later and Aziraphale smiled, insisting that he was the one at fault and offering no acknowledgement to Madam Tracey’s knowing look.

It was true. He was the one who pushed too hard, and he never expected to come away unscathed. 

Crowley had been treated like an animal so often, with such consistency, there was little other way he would have reacted to the situation. Wild animals don’t mean to cause harm, though it doesn’t make them any less deadly. 

Whoever had instilled these thoughts in Crowley… Aziraphale was going to make them pay.

As soon as he got Crowley to see he was no more an animal than any other man the mage had met. There was gentleness there, the need for approval and love, and that was something Aziraphale was compelled to nurture, even if he didn’t know why just yet.


End file.
